“I beg your pardon?” she responded, but his blood was boiling.
“You are the same as you have always been. Rebellious and grating and utterly determined towards some kind of scandal. I should have known better than to believe you could have changed. I actually believed you in the maze that day when you said you were innocent in all of it, but I can see you clearly now, Cecelia. You only wish to cause me hurt.”
Her rosy lips parted as if to speak. George braced himself for her usual stinging retorts, her anger at his being open with her, but none came.
Instead, she closed her mouth once more, her eyes losing some of their wideness as she seemed to deflate.
She pursed her lips, drew her hand from her skirts, and lifted a pale green silken handkerchief. “You dropped this.”
George looked from her to the handkerchief and back again.
He kicked himself, though he could not admit it.
Silently, he reached for the handkerchief.
Their fingers brushed for a mere moment as he took it from her, but it was enough to send a thrill through him.
Her expression was almost entirely unreadable, but he thought perhaps she looked a little confused.
He felt it too, for now he was torn between anger and the desperation he felt to go back in time, to return to believing she truly had changed, to tell her the entire truth of how he felt about her.
But he could not bring himself to do it, and instead, he watched her raise her hand to the heart-shaped pendant at her throat.
His stomach twisted as he recognized the gift he had given her at Christmas so many years ago.
The gold shimmered in the dappled sunlight as she fingered the pendant with a look of hurt simmering in her green gaze.
He opened his mouth to apologize, closed it again, and watched helplessly as she turned away to return to the others.
He reached out a hand, his fingers falling just shy of her wrist. And if she felt them, she did not react.
George's heart ached as she disappeared, leaving him isolated, broken.
Chapter 15
If George remembered his harsh words the day before, he did not show it to Cecelia as he chaperoned her to the next ball two days later.
Cecelia, on the other hand, remained distressed, his words flitting into her mind whenever she let her guard down.
During their silent carriage ride to the event, she pondered how she might broach the subject before deciding against it entirely. If he was determined to act as if nothing had happened, as if he were merely her silent chaperone, then she would allow it to be so.
She was not strong enough to handle another tongue-lashing.
His presence at her side had the same desired effect as it ordinarily did at balls, and soon she was overwhelmed with an immeasurable amount of suitors, the eyes of every young lady in the room gleaming with envy.
And whenever she glanced over her shoulder, he was there, watching her.
It was different again from before. His expression was entirely unreadable, almost grim. And though she was relieved he hadnot given up on his chaperoning duties, on keeping her safe – supposedly from herself – she did not feel the same thrill that she had felt before.
As she had at her earlier balls, she felt a need to escape, for the night to be over. But there was very little she could do about it until she had been introduced to all suitable men.
Shehadto put her father's wish first, had to put it before her own feelings, and grit her teeth to get through the evening.
Her only respite came in the form of hiding. She found every shadow, every large flower pot, every pillar, to gain a moment's peace from his gaze.
And she was in the process of trying to find her next hiding place when she was spotted by Lady Whitmore, a close friend of her mother's, and one she could not ignore without appearing entirely rude.
“Lady Cecilia, how glad I am to see you here this evening,” Lady Whitmore said, laying a hand on her forearm. “I do hope you are enjoying yourself. How is your mother? I have heard she has been ill, though it seems she shall make a full recovery.”
